changing the legends
by wild wolf free17
Summary: Anthology of Harry Potter fics.  All stand alone; each has separate ratings and warnings.  Mostly AU, slash, or angst.
1. sorting

Each of these will stand alone. Separate warnings and ratings.

* * *

><p><strong>Title<strong>: sorting

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: pre-series; AU, possibly

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 200

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: McGonagall, Minnie gets Sorted

* * *

><p>"Don't be nervous," Professor Dumbledore says kindly, eyes twinkling, as he places the Hat on her head. "There's a good girl."<p>

She doesn't glare up at him because Mother told her to always treat teachers with respect, even when they're condescending. But she's not nervous, and she's not a little girl.

_You are good, though_, the Hat says, and she is thankful that Mother told her the Hat could speak. Otherwise, she might have startled and Professor Dumbledore would twinkle at her some more.

_Brave and succinct_, the Hat continues, _an aptitude for Transfiguration. Turning feathers into kittens at nine! My, you do have potential, Minerva._

_Thank you_, she tells it.

_You have a fine mind and would do well in all of the Houses. In Slytherin, you would be great, and in Ravenclaw._ The Hat pauses.

Mother had been Ravenclaw. Father had been Hufflepuff. She has never really considered what House she might be, even when all her friends did.

_Where to place you?_ the Hat asks. _Such a quandary. You are fearless, but love learning. You work hard and have such aspirations…_

She says, _I do love cats_.

Professor Dumbledore grins at her when the Hat shouts, "Gryffindor!"


	2. strike the match

**Title**: strike the match

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU for book 4

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 370

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: any, any, firestorm

* * *

><p>Being an elemental is even rarer than being a parselmouth. Isn't Harry so lucky to be both?<p>

Distantly, far away from the shouting and the fear and the roaring, he wonders if his mother or father had been the elemental - it's a family trait. He remembers that.

He's _so_ lucky. Fate must just _love _him.

The dragon is staring at him. The spectators, those fickle sheep, are still panicking.

Elementals are Dark creatures, and Harry's so tired of this life. Give him back to the cupboard and the Dursleys' constant hate. It's better than being adored and then despised. He always knew where he stood with the Dursleys. He always knew what to do.

The dragon blinks, slowly lowering her head.

The handlers are on the other side of the fire, trying to put it out. It rages even higher.

Harry knows how that feels.

_What do you want? _the dragon asks. Her tail twitches; the eggs all vanish.

Harry shrugs with a bitter smile. _Does it matter?_ he replies. _I'm bound for Azkaban either way, right?_

He can talk to reptiles and make a wildfire without a wand. It doesn't matter that he defeated Voldemort (somehow) - he'll never be seen as anything other than Voldemort's successor, now.

_Firechild,_ the dragon says, hunching over so that her face is directly in Harry's. _Kinspeaker. We have not seen your kind in a long time. What do you need?_

Harry reaches out to touch her jaw, throwing the fire up over them without looking, stopping the handlers on brooms. His element is so much easier than his magic to control. _Is there somewhere better? Somewhere away from here, somewhere I can just… rest for awhile?_

It seems like the dragon smiles. Harry can hear it in her voice. _You need a mother, small one. Come with me._

.

The fire is snuffed out in a rush of air that muggleborns and half-bloods call a 'sonic boom.' Once they've recovered from the shock, everyone realizes Harry and the dragon are gone. So are the eggs, and the other dragons, and, in fact, every dragon in the UK.

It's a long time before anyone from the magical community sees Harry Potter again.


	3. to taste the sky

**Title**: to taste the sky

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic; made up magical processes

**Pairings**: Albus Severus/Scorpius

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 740

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Harry Potter, Albus Severus/Scorpius, flying

* * *

><p>It was Al's idea to research how to become animagi; it was in his blood, after all. His father's shape was a well-kept secret, but he whispered it to Cory one night, curled up together beneath the sheets in their dorm, three privacy charms stacked on each other around the bed.<p>

_Dad's a pit viper_, he told Cory, peering around carefully to make sure the charms held and none of the other boys could hear.

_Really? _Cory asked, adding another silencing charm.

_Really,_ Al said, nodding. _And my granddad was a stag. So, I have to be able to, right? It's in my blood._

Cory considered all the data, of course, and a minute later, he said, _Let's do it._

.

Their first night as dormmates, Al stopped next to the bed Scorpius Malfoy had claimed, held out a hand, and said, _I'm Al._

Scorpius had looked at the hand, looked up at Al, and said, _I'm Scorpius,_shaking his hand.

_That's too much of a mouthful,_ Al told him. _D'you mind if I call you Cory, instead?_

_I… I guess not,_the newly-named Cory said.

Al smiled and hopped into the bed next to his. The next day, they walked to breakfast together, chatting about anything and everything, including familial expectations. They both agreed that Ravenclaw would be acceptable for families with histories of Slytherin and Gryffindor.

James tried to make a fuss, but none of the cousins cared, so Al turned back his conversation with Cory.

.

In fourth year, Al brought up the possibility of becoming animagi. In sixth year, they really set out to do it.

In seventh year, they succeeded, quicker than the Marauders _and _Dad.

Al wished he could brag to someone besides Cory.

.

Cory brewed the potion, the final step; Al cast the spell to reveal what their shapes would be.

_Think the incantation very hard,_ Cory said. _Don't hesitate, don't doubt._

_I __**know**_, Al told him.

Al went first. He thought the incantation clearly, repeating it six times, and then drank the potion, keeping his eyes on Cory's the entire time.

The world went white, then black, and he was suddenly much shorter. It worked, he thought. It worked! He opened his mouth to tell Cory, and then Cory was above him, saying, _Al? You alive down there?_

He meant to say yes, but some sort of shriek came out instead, and Cory laughed. _You're an osprey of some kind, remember?_ Cory crouched down and slowly reached out, holding his arm steady at Al's feet. _C'mon, Al,_ he said. _You may be bird shaped now, but you still need to learn how to fly._

.

By early morning, Al had mastered flying. Using his wings was even more exhilarating than being on a broom. He tried casting _lumos _as a bird and lit up only a small area around him, but since he hadn't expected anything to happen, he nearly fell out of the air.

Cory laughed again, the git.

.

Three days later, they were back at the Shrieking Shack, this time for Cory. Al watched, holding his breath, as Cory - _shifted_. He shimmered and shrank and then a gorgeous gyrfalcon was staring up at him.

_Wow_, Al said. _You're silver, Cory. Magnificent._

Cory preened. Al crouched beside him and held out an arm.

.

Cory's _lumos _was a little more powerful than Al's, but then, he knew ahead of time he could do it.

_Try to summon a rat! _Al yelled up at him.

Five minutes later, a dead rat landed on his head.

.

On Saturday, when they were supposed to be at Hogsmeade, Al and Cory snuck away, shifted into birds, and took to the sky. It was the first time they'd been able to fly during the day, and fly together, since someone had to be the lookout.

Al couldn't resist divebombing him, and Cory retaliated, and it was the most fun Al'd ever had.

.

_Should we register? _Cory asked one night, wrapped around Al in their bed. (They were both meant to have their own, but they shared anyway, going back and forth. None of their dormmates seemed to mind.)

Al seriously considered it for a moment. Granddad James hadn't registered. Dad wasn't registered, even though most of the family knew he could change shape – but only Al and Mum knew what he changed into.

_No, _Al decided.

Cory kissed him and whispered, _Let's go flying tomorrow_.


	4. a flash of green

**Title**: a flash of green

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG  
><strong>Wordcount<strong>: 42

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Voldemort/Harry; He'd do Slytherin himself proud

* * *

><p>Light wizards are easy to kill, too noble for anybody's good, so sure that being on the side of <em>right<em> will save them. That's why Voldemort came so close to winning so many times.

Harry is not a light wizard.

_avada kedavra_


	5. The Mirror

**Title**: The Mirror

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: implied child abuse

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 265

**Point** **of** **view**: first

* * *

><p>I am the Mirror.<p>

Need I more introduction than that?

I am hollow promises

And the open sky.

I am a blank book and a pen poised to write;

I am a reflection of everything wanted and never given.

.

I am the Mirror.

I am who you truly are, as you are only what you desire.

I am who you truly are, as you are only what you long for when no one else can see.

I am who you truly are, as I reveal what you've hidden.

I am a reflection of everything wanted and never given.

.

I am the Mirror.

I am a lie.

I am flawless.

I am perfection only in your dreams—

And you shall dream of me.

For I am a reflection of everything wanted and never given.

.

I am the Mirror,

Slanted and twisted and broken in the night.

I am pieces littering the floor—

But I cannot die, even as I am no more.

.

So, child of tomorrow, never shall I leave—

Always, you will remember what you saw before I fell into shards.

Always, you will remember—

And do not give up.

.

I am a reflection of what could be.

_._

_Silver boy, born of moonlight and unblemished lies,_

_Silver boy, born of dying love and bleeding sighs,_

_Silver boy, born of arrogance, greed, and rage,_

_Silver boy, born of death and the darkness' embrace—_

_I am a reflection of what is in you, those dreams you ignore._

_And I am forever, though I am no more. _

_._

I am the Mirror.

Will you look into me?


	6. arise! the morning is at hand

**Title**: arise! the morning is at hand

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Keats.

**Warnings**: pre-series

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 150

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: booksack

* * *

><p>What she misses most in those early days is how everything made sense back home. The world followed clear-cut, concrete rules, gravity and motion and all the rest. Very little was whimsical or fantastical—just normal. Utterly and simply normal.<p>

But here, in a place of magic and myth, nothing makes sense. It's all so bewildering, so scary—why did she want to come here? She should have never left home, with pictures that didn't move and staircases that stayed where you left them and brooms that had no minds of their own.

But at home there is no adventure. For all the terror, there's just as much wonder here, and…

Maybe here she can change things. Show them all what a muggleborn from a completely mundane background can do.

Petunia will be so impressed, and maybe Lily can finally be better at something.

So she stays.


	7. Wild men who caught and sang the sun

**Title**: Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight

**Fandom**: _Harry Potter_

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas.

**Warnings**: spoilers for _Deathly Hollows; _ignores epilogue

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 640

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

><p><em>Come now, little brother—what're you lookin' for? 's'not me, is it? I'm still there, right beside you; just look.<em>

_Open your eyes and **see**. _

.

George can't stand his reflection. He can't stand the shop or the Burrow, anywhere that Fred ever went. He hates being inside and imagines a grave anytime he's surrounded by walls.

He hasn't been to Hogwarts since.

.

Mum's grief is loud, as is Dad's. Ginny comforts herself with Harry, and Ron with Hermione. Bill turns to Fleur and Teddy—George thinks they'll probably adopt Remus and Tonk's little 'wolf. Charlie has his dragons, away in the wilds of Romania. Percy almost never leaves Mum's side.

George is alone for the first time since conception, and he loathes every heartbeat of it.

.

He leaves Britain the first chance he gets, crossing the Channel. He sends an owl only once he's reached Paris. He's there for a week before he moves on.

Fred would have loved it.

Everywhere he goes, he searches for a mirror image, for the brother he's never been without.

A month, two, three—he blinks and a full year is gone. He hasn't spoken to his family in so long he's starting to forget their voices.

He drinks Muggle alcohol and stays on Muggle streets. He was finished with magic he moment it killed Fred.

.

Percy finds him on the second anniversary of the day he stopped being a twin. He sits beside George at the bar and doesn't speak. He leans in, though, resting his shoulder against George's.

George hasn't cried in a year-and-a-half. But in that dingy Muggle pub, his brother beside him, George sobs.

Percy gently tugs at George's arm and George falls towards him. Percy's taller by a scant inch but George curls in on himself.

"C'mon," Percy says softly, standing and pulling George with him.

George docily follows.

.

Percy takes him to a Wizarding hotel, leads him upstairs to a room on the second floor, lightly shoves him onto the single bed.

"Sleep," Percy tells him. George doesn't want to, but Percy settles beside him, runs his fingers through George's hair. He hasn't cut it since, and it's long past his shoulders.

"Sleep," Percy repeats. "I'll be here when you wake."

George slips under and dreams of Fred.

.

Next morning, Percy doesn't speak. He leads George into the bathroom and strips them both, shoving him into the shower stall and following.

Briskly Percy scrubs George down; George is too far gone to care. He is docile, completely pliant in his brother's care. Percy gently washes George's hair, rubbing at his scalp.

"Mum's worried about you," Percy says as he towels George off. "She asks every day if anyone's heard from you, knows where you are."

Finally, George speaks. "You here to take me back?"

Percy looks him in the eye. "Do you want to go back?"

George lowers his gaze and shakes his head. "He's not there, Percy. He's not anywhere. He left me behind."

Percy pulls George to him. "I can't be Fred. I don't want to take his place. But you shouldn't be alone, George. So wherever you're going, let me come with you."

George pulls back a little, just enough to meet Percy's eyes. "You really want to? What about your job?"

"Yes, I want this," Percy answers. "My only job is being a brother."

George falls forward, letting Percy support his weight. Percy sinks to the floor, cradling his little brother.

.

Percy leads George from the hotel three days after he led him to it. "I was thinking we could visit the Americas," Percy tells him. "If you want."

"Fine with me," George responds.

They use Muggle methods to cross the ocean and George doesn't look back.

.

_See, little brother? I told you. _

_It'll be alright, Gred. I promise. We'll be together again, soon enough… _


	8. the safekept memory of a lovely thing

**Title**: the safe-kept memory of a lovely thing

**Fandom**: Inception/Harry Potter

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Sara Teasdale

**Warnings**: AU; future!fic for Harry Potter

**Pairings**: implied Arthur/Eames

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 190

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Inception/Harry Potter, anyone, extractors in the Wizarding World use Pensives rather than PASIVs

* * *

><p>Dumbledore is one of the easiest forges Eames has ever done. Weasley seems to believe anything that comes out of the old coot's mouth, and Eames has always been good at making shit up as he goes.<p>

Arthur's battling the horde of red-heads that are Weasley's projections and the odd map Weasley had cast aside fills up with information. Eames-as-Dumbledore tells Weasley to _run, find Harry! he needs your help!_and Weasley takes off. Eames quickly memorizes the information, murmuring the spell that'll fill in the paper in his pocket, topside.

Arthur's invention, that. He's such a handy little bugger to have around.

He leaves the approximation of Dumbledore's office, meeting Arthur in the hall. "Ready, love?" he asks, dropping the forge. Arthur nods, so Eames says the counterspell. They're tossed out of the pensive in the usual dramatic flair. Once topside, Arthur does a quick cleanup while Eames checks that the information transferred.

"Perfect," he says.

"Good," Arthur replies. "Let's get out of here."

No one tries to stop them as they leave the Ministry. Eames can barely contain his smirk. Arthur waits until they're clear to roll his eyes.


	9. the day the music died

**Title**: the day the music died

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Point of view**: third

**Wordcount**: 135

**Prompt**: any, any, let the whole world burn.

* * *

><p>They scream for him, on the battlefield. They beg and whimper and howl.<p>

They want him to save them, even if it kills him to do it.

He stands in the middle, looking at Tom, and he asks, "Why should I?"

"Who should you what?" Voldemort hisses, calm in the midst of a storm.

They are still shrieking. He wishes they'd stop.

"Why should I fight for them?" he explains. "Against you? I haven't... I can't think of a reason."

Voldemort smiles. Tom says, "Then don't, Harry. I'll let you leave."

He thinks, for a long moment, as the world holds its breath.

"Yes, please," he says.

He's no one's savior, least of all the people who never even once tried to save him.

They scream for him, as he walks away. He leaves them screaming.


	10. almost… but not quite

**Title**: almost… but not quite

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: spoilers for entire series

**Pairings**: canon and Harry/Draco

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 315

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Prompt**: Harry/Draco, almost lovers

* * *

><p>They could have been... very many things.<p>

Maybe in another world, Voldemort took Harry instead of trying to kill him. Maybe there, Harry was raised by the Malfoys and became the Dark Lord's heir. Maybe Draco was his best friend and brother, maybe they became lovers.

And in another world, maybe Harry listened to Draco in the robe shop, or Draco said something different, or Dumbledore noticed how Harry's letter was addressed and sent someone to investigate, or someone had already investigated and gotten Harry to a healthier environment, or Lucius Malfoy followed up on his master's destroyer and took the boy himself, fashioned a dark lord to rule the world.

And in another world, maybe Harry took Draco's hand on the train. Maybe he was a bit more Slytherin, angry and ambitious, wanting to punish a world that never looked out for him. Maybe he flourished and grew and did great (terrible, yes, but great) things. Maybe Draco was his friend, his confidant, his mentor and then right hand as he outstripped Voldemort and Grindelwald, as Harry Potter became the name to fear.

And in another world, maybe Harry offered Draco help in sixth year, maybe Draco accepted. Or maybe after the war, they tried to put the past behind them, to mature beyond schoolyard grudges because they truly had never been enemies, just two boys caught up in a terrible situation, a spot of normalcy amongst the abnormal.

They could have been so many things. But in this world, they went their separate ways. They married and had children, and maybe their children could be something.

(I'm Albus, Albus Potter. My dad told me about your family.

Scorpius Malfoy. Grandmum saved your dad, you know.

So I've heard. Want a chocolate frog?

I suppose. Do you think you'll be in Gryffindor?

Maybe. But Dad said it doesn't matter where I go.

So did mine.)


	11. you should have known better

**Title**: you should have known better than to lean on me

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from "Because of You" by Kelly Clarkson.

**Warnings**: AU after OotP. Dark.

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 785

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Type**: prose

* * *

><p><em>At the end, he is no hero. <em>

.

They tell stories about The Boy Who Lived, about the one who defeated the worst Dark Lord in remembered history. They speak of his power, of his grace and his courage, of his sacrifice.

They have no idea what they're talking about.

.

_Fighting the Dark, true Dark, steals away the Light, siphons all that is good from a body._

.

They speak of how he was that first year, eager as a puppy. They speak of how he never lost control his second year, even when most of the school turned on him. They speak of how he never lashed out in anger his third year, how he never hunted the traitor Black himself, leaving him to those who knew more. They speak of his bravery in the Tri-Wizard Tournament his fourth year, of how he stuck to his story against all comers in his fifth.

It is his sixth year, however, where the true story is hidden and mere legends come into play.

.

_At the end, he gives in, easily, and lets the Dark claim his soul._

.

They say he worked closely with Albus Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards the Light ever birthed. They were allies, friends, partners in the plan to destroy the Dark Lord. They say Albus Dumbledore loved him like a grandson, doted on him, gave him training and aid.

They are wrong.

.

_Love is a great power, for certain, but not enough to defy the Dark for long._

.

The truth, known only to a handful, is that The Boy Who Lived never again turned to Albus Dumbledore after his godfather fell into the Veil. He submerged himself in rage and pain, falling deeper and deeper into despair by the day. The weeks he spent at his relatives after the Department of Mysteries disaster merely cemented his decision: he was done playing by the Light's rules.

After Sirius Black fell into the Veil, Harry Potter—The Boy Who Lived—plunged headfirst into the Dark.

_At the end, he rests, held gently in an ebon embrace, cloaked in Darkness._

.

There was a battle between the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters, a battle that claimed over a thousand lives. Albus Dumbledore fell before the final curse cast, killed by the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord laughed, full and long, as the remaining Order members dropped to their knees in disbelief.

The Light and Dark battled… and the Light lost.

.

_Beneath the lure of Light flows the siren song of Darkness, and so few can ever deny its call._

.

But this is not the story told. Why? Because after the Order's defeat, the Dark Lord vanished. His followers returned to their lives and the world continued on. Soon enough, the truth faded and legends were told in its stead.

The Boy Who Lived went down in history as a hero, even though no one saw him for a dozen years.

.

_At the end, he has not forgotten, nor shall he ever forgive._

.

The Boy Who Lived, according to the history texts, dueled the worst Dark Lord in living memory to the death and came out the victor. He collapsed moments after Voldemort died and never woke, wasting away within hours.

History, as recorded, is a lie.

.

_There are no last-minute salvations, only glorious darkness as the curtain falls._

.

Voldemort vanished and his followers faded back into their normal lives. The magical world prospered in the new age, content in the knowledge that the Dark had gone forever.

But the Dark never dies. It merely sleeps, waiting to be summoned again.

.

_At the end, the Dark swirls about him and the Light falls. _

_._

The Dark Lord, in fact, is no Lord of the Dark at all. After he killed Albus Dumbledore, the gifts granted him by the Dark were taken back and Voldemort, again, became Tom Riddle. He did not have the pure power at his disposal anymore, but he was content.

Part of what the history texts say is true: Voldemort died on that battlefield. But he was not killed by Harry Potter—instead, he waits for Harry Potter to call up the Dark, so that he can, once again, join the eternal war.

The magical world, in its innocence, believes that the war between Light and Dark can end—has ended.

Harry Potter—The Boy Who Lived, the hero of the magical world—knows better. The war will never be over—and he is the greatest general the Dark has ever had.

.

_At the end, he is no hero, no savior—no pawn. At the end, he laughs in the Dark's embrace and punishes the world that never once fought for him.  
><em>


	12. snapshot

**Title**: snapshot

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: future!fic; implied character death; AU

**Pairings**: none stated

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**:

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Harry Potter, Any, It's more cruel when the pictures move.

* * *

><p>He prefers muggle pictures, he decides, staring down at their laughing faces, as they hold hands and hug, as they kiss cheeks and foreheads and lips. A whole family, three generations' worth - the Weasleys, back before.<p>

They'd be flat and still, in a muggle picture. That probably wouldn't hurt as much. But in this picture... if he looks up, they might be in the next room, laughter loud through the door, the twins tormenting Ron, Hermione telling her daughter to be nice to the younger cousins, Molly scolding Bill for yet another earring, Fleur sharing make-up tips with Ginny.

Potter (not Harry, never Harry) cuddles his infant son, in the picture.

He sets the picture down and turns away. He was raised to hate muggles and all their accoutrement, but this... give him a muggle picture any day.


	13. This Is The Part

**Title**: This Is The Part

**Disclaimer**: Not my characters. Just for fun.  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: character death

**Pairings**: James/Lily, Sirius/Remus

**Rating**: PG13

**Wordcount**: 985

**Point** **of** **view**: third

* * *

><p><strong><em>This is the part where you die.<br>_**  
>.<p>

Given a choice between eternity and instant death, Sirius thinks he'd pick death.

Not that he's given a choice, of course. It'd have been nice, though.

.

James and Remus and Peter and Sirius—the Marauders, teacher's worst nightmares, and the best of friends. Remus the smart one, James the charismatic one, Sirius the crazy one, and Peter the follower.

Peter the traitor, James the dead, Sirius the mad, and Remus the only one left in the end. Remus the gentle despite the beast, Remus the sweet, Remus the best of them all.

If things had gone differently, if James and Lily hadn't died, if Sirius hadn't been framed and convicted in the non-trial, if he hadn't gone to jail—what-if's and could-have-been's litter the floor around them, and it's too late.

It's_ too late_ and he never gets the choice.

.

Thoughts of Remus, of James and Lily, of Harry keep him sane those years. Of course, they're quickly stolen by the dementors, leaving him freezing and aching for warmth, and then only the surety of his innocence kept him from joining his jail-mates in the realm of madness.

And vengeance. Peter… Sirius was not the kindest of the four; Remus held that mantel and wore it well. James, too, had a sort of honor about him. Snape alone was the target for his cruelty. And Peter—he'd always seemed so… helpless. Defenseless.

But Sirius came from a Dark family and had honed his temper at a young age. Deep in his soul, he knows he hasn't fully escaped the grasp of the Blacks, and when he finally gets out of Azkaban…

Not even the dementors can fully steal the joy he gets from the thought of catching up with Peter.

.

All his life, Sirius wondered why. Why his family followed _Voldemort_ so blindly, why they looked down at muggleborns and 'half-breeds,' why they never gave anyone a chance.

So when he met James and Remus and Peter, he felt vindicated. He and James clicked first, far too alike and yet completely different. Same sense of humor, same beliefs, same dreams—best friends from the moment their eyes met at the train station.

Remus shuffled into the car they'd claimed, robes old and faded, a book clutched in his hands. He spared them only one glance before sitting, flipping through the pages, and losing himself in the novel. James and Sirius looked at each other and shrugged before resuming their conservation—Sirius can't really recall it, but it had something to do with Quidditch.

They didn't meet Peter until the Sorting, when Sirius and Remus had sat next to each other, waiting for James. Not that Sirius and Remus were friendly, yet—but space was reserved for the first years and Sirius was the first one Sorted into Gryffindor that year.

A Black in Gryffindor. He'd be disinherited for sure.

.

And so life went. The four of them, best of friends for almost no reason at all. James and Sirius were both the leaders; Remus mostly stood on the sidelines, shaking his head and holding a book. Peter toddled in their wake, always sure they'd get caught.

Remus revealed as a werewolf—no problem. James and Sirius, heralded as the most powerful wizards of their generation, learned to change their shape at will, one into a stag and the other a giant dog. They helped Peter, and he became a rat.

With hindsight, Sirius laughs for days.

.

If given the choice, Sirius would die for James. For Peter. For Remus—for Remus most of all.

But Peter betrayed and James died fighting and Remus faded and Sirius was thrown away, cast off, cursed and hated.

If given the choice, Sirius would have sacrificed anything for James and Lily and Harry. Anything but Remus.

But he had no choice, no chance. Locked away in Azkaban without a trial, without hope.

James dead. Remus missing.

Peter free.

.

**_This is the part where you die._**

.

How Sirius and Remus fell together is something he's never understood. He and James were friends and nothing more, the best of friends, closer than brothers; Peter was almost asexual, never showed interest in anyone or anything, to Sirius' knowledge. But Remus…

When and where Sirius fell in love, he doesn't know. Maybe for always.

He's never believed in destiny or fate. Always thought everyone had a choice in everything they did.

So Peter chose_ Voldemort_ over a friendship the rest thought ran deeper than blood. So James chose to fight, and Lily chose to fight, and Sirius chose to track Peter down and avenge them.

He should have chosen to go to Remus, should have realized the one he loved more than life wouldn't be the traitor, should have trusted him.

There is no such thing as destiny.

.

Looking at James' son, Sirius sees nothing but lost time. Years gone, unable to be reclaimed. Lily's eyes, James' wicked smirk, and a knowledge neither of his parents had until they were older.

They died too young. Harry's life has been too hard.

Looking at Remus, Sirius wants to collapse into his arms and rest. But Peter still breathes, and James is long gone.

Bellatrix throws a curse and he dodges back, expecting to fall against a wall, to catch his breath.

.

_Do you remember how we swore forever? Do you remember the smell of the earth and the touch of the breeze and how our laughter filled the air? _

_._

Instead of hitting a wall, he keeps going backwards.

Lily's eyes follow him into the abyss.

.

_**This is the part where you die.**_

.

There is no choice.

Sirius falls.

.

_Do you remember… remember me… _


	14. green light and silence

**Title**: green light and silence

**Disclaimer**: not my characters

**Warnings**: AU; somewhat dark

**Rating**: PG

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Wordcount**: 90

**Prompt**: Harry Potter, his favorite spell

* * *

><p>He remembers the first time he held his wand, the phoenix song that murmured in his mind, a tune he's never heard anywhere else, even in Dumbledore's office with Fawkes under his fingers.<p>

He's cast so many spells with this wand, and in the back of his memory, always his parents cheered him on, so proud as he honors them and then surpasses them.

So many spells over the years, and this one, green light and silence, is the greatest, as the most powerful wizards and witches fall to him.


	15. he is strong as a star from Heaven

**Title**: he is strong as a star from heaven

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; just for fun. Title from _Gilgamesh_.

**Warnings**: spoilers for _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_

**Pairings**: none

**Rating**: PG

**Wordcount**: 5350

**Point** **of** **view**: third

**Notes**: written for my English class

**More notes**: thanks to cindas for reading over this

* * *

><p>Neville hadn't been able to sleep the night before; he tossed and turned and imagined all the ways everything could go wrong, how he could fail, let down Gran and the family again. After all, he wasn't that magical—nothing happened till he was eight!—and what if they decided he wasn't good enough? If he got sent home, he'd just die. He'd never be able to look Gran in the eye again.<p>

The whole family came by the house in the week leading up to the first of September, wishing him luck and telling stories about their days at Hogwarts. Everyone in living memory had been Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, and when Great Uncle Algie tracked him down—Neville avoided him whenever possible, because not even Trevor was worth being dropped out a window—he told Neville that he'd better live up to the family name or die trying. Neville _thought_ he was joking.

On August thirty-first, Gran took him to St. Mungo's so that he could explain to Mum and Dad why he wouldn't be able to come to see them every week anymore. Despite what Gran said, Neville knew they understood. That night, Gran also gave him Dad's wand and Neville swore he'd take extra-careful care of it.

And now the time had come to board the train, to leave Gran behind. Neville stared at the bright red engine, reaching into his pocket for Trevor, but he was gone.

"Gran, I've lost my toad again," he said, turning to look up at her.

"Oh, _Neville_," she sighed, severe face softening. "Child, I know you don't want to go, but losing that creature won't let you stay."

"I didn't lose Trevor on purpose, Gran," he told her. "He must've just hopped out of my pocket." Neville started looking around the platform, calling, "Trevor!"

"Neville," his grandmother reproved. "The toad'll come or it won't. We need to get you on the train and all settled."

"But Gran," Neville argued as she pushed him toward the train, "he'll be somewhere out _here_."

"Tinkly," Gran called to their house-elf. "Once we've chosen a compartment, move Neville's things there."

She didn't wait for Tinkly's reply, but pushed Neville onto the train and then strode past him. She peered into half a dozen compartments before choosing one that had a single occupant, a girl with curly brown hair reading a large book. On the cover, Neville could only make out _Hogwarts_.

The girl immediately hopped to her feet, casting the book aside, while Gran turned to face Neville. She placed her hands on his shoulders. "Don't worry too much, my boy. You'll learn a lot at Hogwarts." She nodded to him, giving a firm smile, and whirled on her heel, swiftly leaving. She didn't look back once.

Neville looked at the girl; she held out a hand and said, "I'm Hermione Granger; it's my first year at Hogwarts. I can't wait to learn magic! Oh, isn't it so exciting?"

Neville felt sick, but he said, "Yes, very exciting." Then he added, "I'm Neville Longbottom."

Hermione sat back down and Neville threw himself into the seat across from her. "You haven't seen a toad, have you?" he asked. "My Trevor's missing."

"No, sorry," she said, picking up her book. "I'm sure he'll come back, though."

Neville shifted, concerned the train was about to leave, and if Trevor didn't make it, Neville wouldn't see him again until Christmas. "I'm going to search for him," he told Hermione; she didn't raise her head from the book, reminding him a great deal of Gran.

He wandered down the corridor, poking his head into compartments, asking everyone who looked nice and friendly if they'd seen Trevor. Finally, as he started back to his own, Hermione met up with him, already in her Hogwarts' robes.

"No luck, then?" she asked.

He shook his head, sniffling. Trevor was his only friend. Gran was right—he was too forgetful. It'd serve him right if Trevor had a better life with someone else, someone who remembered to keep track of him.

Hermione grabbed his arm. "Well, come on, Neville." She pulled him to a compartment he'd already been to, barged in, and demanded, "Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."

Both occupants, two boys, looked up. The redhead said, "We've already told him we haven't seen it." He held his wand like he'd been about to cast a spell.

Hermione noticed, too. "Oh, are you doing magic?" she asked. "Let's see it, then." She sat down.

Neville wanted to leave; magic wasn't as important as finding Trevor, but Hermione wanted to stay. He stood just inside the door, very uncomfortable, as the boy tried his spell:

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,

Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

For the first time, Neville noticed the rat in the boy's lap. Nothing happened, and Neville felt embarrassed for his schoolmate. That incantation sounded like something Great Uncle Algie might give him.

Hermione chattered on about magic and schoolbooks, speaking very quickly, and Neville only paid attention again when the two boys said their names: Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.

He stared at _Harry Potter_, the Boy Who Lived; he'd heard about Harry, defeater of You-Know-Who, for as long as he could remember.

Hermione was chattering again and Harry Potter looked dazed. Neville sympathized, thinking back to one of Gran's final lectures on expected behavior at Hogwarts.

"Now, you'll meet children there, Neville, that aren't our sort. There'll be those whose families lean towards the Dark, Muggleborns with no idea, and some who have no creed at all. You must treat everybody with respect and the courtesy as is fit of our station, from the Muggleborns to the Malfoy heir. We are a Light family. Do you understand?"

He had nodded, and she went on, "There is a very good chance Harry Potter will finally be brought out of hiding this year. He is your age, after all." Her gaze sharpened. "Treat him like any other boy, Neville. Many will fawn over him, or hate him. Remember, he is _just a boy_." Again, she asked, "Do you understand?"

"But, he defeated You-Know-Who!" Neville said. "He's not just a boy."

Gran straightened in her chair. "He is, Neville. I remember him as an infant, born mere hours after you, to that sweet Evans girl. Treat him with kindness and respect, like you should everyone."

Neville nodded, saying, "Yes, Gran."

He looked at Harry Potter, listening to Hermione with wide eyes, and Neville realized that Gran was right.

"Anyway," Hermione was saying when Neville tuned back in, "we'd better go and look for Neville's toad." She stood and Neville backed up out of her way. "You two had better change, you know," she said to Harry and Ron. "I expect we'll be there soon."

As he followed her out, Hermione told Neville, "That goes for you, as well. I know you're worried about—Trevor, was it?—your toad, but we _must_ be ready for Hogwarts."

She really did remind him of his grandmother. It was sort of frightening.

Hermione waited outside the compartment, while Neville changed. As she came back in, he asked about the book she'd been reading.

Her face lit up. "Oh, it's simply wonderful, Neville! I read it before, after my first trip to Diagon Alley; I needed to catch up on the magical community, you understand. I haven't told you the title yet, have I?" She dug into the trunk beside her seat. "_Hogwarts, A History_. It's so full of knowledge, Neville. Have you read it?"

She handed over the thickest book Neville had actually seen someone holding. "No," he said. "But Gran's library has a copy, I think." He studied the tome. "It's very old, isn't it?"

Hermione giggled a little. "Hogwarts is a thousand years old! You can borrow it, if you want."

He smiled at her. "You keep it. I'll ask Gran to send me ours." He handed her back the book and she put it away.

They passed a while in silence and then Hermione said, "Your toad will turn up, Neville. He's magic, right?"

Neville brightened. "You're right! He'll find me." Then another concern came to him. "What if someone finds him and keeps him?"

Hermione reached over to pat his arm. "Don't think like that, Neville," she encouraged.

They spent another while in silence, Neville looking at the passing countryside, then Hermione said, "I'd better go and check on those two." She stood, adding, "I'll be back in half a minute." He watched her go in bemusement. Maybe he would have a friend this year.

_But_, he realised, _what if we're put in different Houses?_ Could Houses mingle? He should have asked Gran. She had been a Ravenclaw, which Hermione would surely be. Neville would be lucky to be a Hufflepuff. If they let him stay.

Hermione returned muttering about foolish boys seeking out trouble before school even started. Neville decided not to ask.

"We're nearly there," she told him. "I asked the conductor." She grinned, practically bouncing. "Oh, I'm so excited, Neville! I had thought magic to be a fairy tale, but it's _real_."

"My whole family is magic," Neville said. "back for centuries. That's why it'd be so disappointing if I'd been a squib."

Hermione frowned. "I'm not sure I quite understand relations between nonmagical people and magical people. Nonmagical parents can have magical children and magical parents can have nonmagical children?"

Neville nodded. "According to Gran, no one knows why. They're conducting studies at St. Mungo's."

Hermione opened her mouth, but a voice cut her off, saying they'd arrived. Neville's stomach plummeted.

"I can't do this," he mumbled. "I'll just stay on the train and go back to London."

"Neville Longbottom," Hermione said primly, tugging at his arm. "Up, up. What would your grandmother say?"

The thought of Gran's disapproving expression—Neville _hated_ that look, it always made him feel about two inches tall and two years old—got Neville to his feet and Hermione's gentle tug on his sleeve got him into the corridor. He followed her through the crowd, onto a chilly and dark platform.

A loud voice boomed, "Firs' years over here!" and Hermione led the way. Harry and Ron were just in front of them, and Neville almost tumbled down the path. He thought of Trevor—if he'd made it onto the train, would he know to get off here?

The giant leading them said something about Hogwarts; it was impressive, Neville decided, looking at the castle. But Gran's manor was better. A fleet of small boats waited at the bottom of the path, and Neville kept following Hermione, who got into the one after Harry and Ron. None of them spoke; Neville looked out over the lake, thinking of home, as the boat started moving by itself. Gran would be just now sitting down to supper. Would she be lonely without Neville, or relieved he wouldn't be there to ask questions anymore? She'd never acted annoyed with him, but what if she really had been? And now that he had somewhere else to go, what if she didn't want him anymore?

Hermione placed a hand on his arm and he realised his chest was heaving. He took a deep breath as the boat docked in a kind of underground harbor. Neville realized that he couldn't remember what any of the scenery they'd just passed had looked like—what if there was test? He couldn't fail the very first exam!

The giant called, "Oy, you there? Is this your toad?"

Neville lunged forward, shouting, "Trevor!" He gently took his toad from a huge hand and cradled him close to his chest. Trevor ribbited softly. Hermione patted Neville's shoulder; she whispered, "I told you he'd find his way back."

He grinned at her, lightly stroking Trevor's spine. A weight melted from his shoulders—with Trevor safe in his grip, suddenly Hogwarts didn't seem so scary. He was so caught up in becoming reacquainted with Trevor that he didn't notice the frightening, no-nonsense witch addressing them until Hermione nudged him to follow the crowd. The first years stopped in a small room and the witch told them about something called the Sorting. She explained the four Houses, for the Muggle-borns—Neville knew all about them, of course, from Gran and the rest of the family. He knew he wouldn't be a Slytherin or Gryffindor or Ravenclaw—not mean or brave or smart enough. His family had all been Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, except for a handful of Slytherins somewhere along the way, but Neville was sure he'd be Hufflepuff.

The witch—and he really should learn her name, she must be dreadfully important—left them. Most of the first years started mumbling about the Sorting, what the ceremony might entail. Hermione started muttering spells. Neville closed his eyes; he was just about out of terror and wonder for the day.

His eyes flew open when students behind him screamed. He whirled around, but saw nothing frightening—just a few ghosts. Must've been Muggle-borns who'd been scared, then. The ghosts were arguing about someone named Peeves. The nicest-looking ghost, a jolly monk, smiled down at them. He reminded Neville of Gran's great-great-grandfather's portrait. Neville had always enjoyed visiting him.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff," the ghost said. "My old House, you know."

Maybe Hufflepuff wouldn't be so bad.

The severe witch came back, shooing the ghosts. She told the students to form a line and follow her. She led them into a large room with five long tables. It looked a lot like the formal dining room he and Gran only ever ate in during parties or when the whole family was there.

Neville glanced over when Hermione whispered, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside." He followed her gaze to the ceiling. "I read about it in_ Hogwarts, A History_."

Yes, Neville would ask Gran to send him that book. He should have read it before, when he first received the letter. He was surprised Gran didn't make him read it.

The old witch—"Professor McGonagall," Hermione muttered when he asked—placed a small stool on the floor and then put a raggedy hat on it. Neville stared; Gran would burn that hat, soon as touch it. As he watched, a mouth opened in the old cloth and the hat started to sing.

Neville listened closely as it described the four Houses—brave Gryffindor, hard-working Hufflepuff, wise Ravenclaw, and cunning Slytherin. None of them sounded like him.

"When I call your name," Professor McGonagall said, "you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted." She looked down at the parchment in her hands. "Abbot, Hannah."

Neville could not imagine going first. He thought the girl very brave.

The closer _L_ came, the queasier Neville's stomach got, but he cheered when Hermione was placed in Gryffindor.

And finally, Professor McGonagall called out, "Longbottom, Neville." As he walked to the stool, he thought he might be sick, and he closed his eyes as the hat sank onto his head.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, young Longbottom," a small voice said. "Do you have anything to say about where I'll sort you?"

Neville's mind raced. "Not Slytherin?" he mumbled.

The hat chuckled. "Oh, no, not Slytherin for you. Those serpents would eat you alive. Let's see…"

Neville waited, slowly calming as the hat murmured to itself. "You're loyal and kind. Determined to do the right thing, to live up to your parents, to honour your heritage. Hmm… you might do well in Ravenclaw, if you really applied yourself, but I doubt you'd be happy there." Neville licked his lips, wondering why the hat seemed to be taking so long. "Patience, boy!" the hat reproved gently. "This is important. Your House is your home away from home. They'll become your family, if you let them."

Neville apologized softly and the hat chuckled again. "Not a problem. Now, this is interesting! You're more than you know, young Neville. You have power and strength, if only you find the courage to unlock it. You'd do well in Hufflepuff, but I believe that you'll shine in GRYFFINDOR."

The hat shouted the House name and Neville's mouth dropped open. In shock, he leapt to his feet, rushing to the table under the red banner. He realised the hat was still on his head only when it chortled.

"I wish you luck, Neville Longbottom," the hat said as he sheepishly carried it back to the front of the Hall.

"Thank you," he told it, then handed it to the next student, a girl with shining dark hair.

He sat across from Hermione, who gave him a large smile. "This is wonderful, Neville!" she said. "Oh, I'm so excited!"

The sorting continued and Neville cheered the next Gryffindor, and then "Potter, Harry," was called.

The Great Hall went completely silent before whispering broke out. The hat took its time and at last "GRYFFINDOR" rang out. Their table erupted in cheers.

The sorting was winding down now. Neville's stomach rumbled and Hermione grinned. Finally the last student was sorted as Ron collapsed next to Harry. Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet and welcomed the students.

Neville remembered him from a few of Gran's dinner parties. Before taking him to King's Cross, she'd said, "Albus Dumbledore is a wise, powerful man. He'll play the mad wizard, but remember that, no matter how it appears, he's not insane." Gran'd looked sad for a moment. "Also, he's always years ahead of everyone else."

As Professor Dumbledore sat down, the plates filled with food. Neville chose steak, peas, and fries. It tasted just like Tinkly's at home. He drank a glass of grape juice to wash it down, only half-listening to Harry's discussion with the Gryffindor ghost, Sir Nicholas.

When the dinner plates were replaced with desserts, Neville only took a small chocolate éclair. The students around him, all first years, began talking about their families and Neville answered Ron with how Great Uncle Algie had tried to force magic out him. He kept the bitterness from his voice with difficulty.

Hermione and one of Ron's brothers—he had five!—were discussing classes. Transfiguration sounded interesting, but Neville doubted he'd do very well, no matter what the sorting hat said. It seemed to be as old as Hogwarts; what if it'd become senile and made a mistake?

For just a moment, he heard Gran in his mind. _Don't talk down to yourself, Neville_, she'd say. _You'll only make a self-fulfilling prophecy_.

As Neville ruminated, Professor Dumbledore stood again, to deliver the start of term notices. The forest was forbidden to all students—that would be no hardship for Neville. He did not like wild woods, much preferring tame gardens. Second, Professor Dumbledore informed them, no magic was to be used between classes in the corridors. Another that shouldn't be hard for Neville, since he probably wouldn't be able to do magic _in_ the classroom, much less out. Third was information about Quidditch trials. Neville had never been interested in the sport.

"And finally," the headmaster said gravely, "I must tell you that this year the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is strictly out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Very few students laughed, Harry among them. But Neville took the warning to heart—threats of death were nothing to scoff at.

Almost as if to change the depressing mood, Professor Dumbledore announced gleefully that they'd sing the school song. Neville only mumbled the words, while others actually sang at the tops of their voices. A pair of redheaded twins, more of Ron's brothers, Neville guessed, took the longest to finish. After the song, the professor dismissed them and one of Ron's brothers, the same one Hermione had been talking with, said, "First years, follow me."

Neville fell in with Hermione, once again behind Ron and Harry. The way was confusing, moreso even than the manor, which after nine years, Neville still didn't fully know his way around.

He was very, very tired, about to fall asleep walking, when Ron's brother stopped. "Peeves," he whispered. "A poltergeist." Neville looked past him to a bundle of walking-sticks floating in midair. Ron's brother raised his voice, saying, "Peeves, show yourself."

Neville had met a poltergeist before, in of Great-Grandfather's lofts—Gran had banished it with ease.

Ron's brother said, "Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this. I mean it!" The poltergeist, a small man with large eyes and a cruel mouth, dropped the sticks on Neville's head and vanished.

Hermione said, "That creature is a menace!" She turned to Neville, asking, "Are you alright?"

He nodded, lightly patting the top of his head. "I'll be fine, Hermione." She gripped his chin, tilting his head down to examine the injury for herself. After a moment, she let him go and whirled to face Ron's brother.

"Percy! How can the professors allow him to stay?" She crossed her arms, raising a brow. "Well?"

Ron's brother, Percy, said, "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore has his reasons." He assessed Neville, then told the first years, "You want to watch out for Peeves." He continued walking, saying, " The Bloody Baron is the only one who can control him; he won't even listen to us prefects."

Having the sticks dropped on his head didn't help Neville's exhaustion in the slightest. He was relieved when Percy stopped not much further, in front of a portrait of a large woman in a pink dress.

"Password?" the lady asked.

"Caput Draconis," Percy answered, and the painting swung forward. One by one, everyone clambered in; Neville's natural clumsiness, his exhaustion, and the ringing in his ears from Peeves' attack combined to make it almost impossible to get in. One of the other first years, a tall black boy whose name Neville didn't know, helped him.

Once inside the common room, Neville wanted to sink into one of the comfortable-looking armchairs: they were large, fluffy, and deep red, and looked more inviting than even his bed at home.

"Girls through there," Percy said, pointing. "Boys through the other."

Hermione patted his shoulder, saying, "Off you go, Neville. Get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

He nodded, yawning, and followed his year-mates up. He didn't notice much in the dorm except _bed_ and _red_—more red than he'd ever seen in his life—and located his trunk with blurry eyes. He pulled a sleeping Trevor from his pocket, placing him on the bedside table, and then slipped out of his robes, replacing them with his pyjamas.

Neville's first dream at Hogwarts involved Gran, Peeves, and Professor Dumbledore, all members of a band. He woke up giggling halfway through the night, then rolled over and went back to sleep, this time without a single dream he could remember.

In the morning, he walked to the Great Hall with Hermione, not getting lost at all. Other students complained about the moving staircases and doors that led nowhere, but Neville figured Hermione was too no-nonsense, even for Hogwarts. Thankfully, he had all his classes with her, too.

Neville's favorite was, by far, Herbology, taught by his favorite teacher, Professor Sprout. Professor Sprout was cheerful and funny, and always willing to answer any question at all. In Herbology, there were clear-cut rules and things that made sense, and plants were just _fascinating_, with all their little parts and pieces, and they were just plain _useful_. Much better than history or maths, or anything else, as far as Neville could see.

History of Magic, taught by a ghost who resembled Gran's old Uncle Elbert, was the most boring hours Neville had spent in his life. It was worse than Gran's lessons on deportment. He tried taking notes while listening, he tried listening and nothing else, and he tried sleeping—nothing worked, and it was still so boring he just wanted to cry.

Charms, taught by a man about Tinkly's size, was interesting. Professor Flitwick was excitable and willing to praise anyone who did anything remotely right. Neville knew all sorts of charms from Aunt Mildred, so he figured he might do alright.

Professor McGonagall, from the sorting, taught Transfiguration. In the very first lesson, she turned her desk to a pig and back again. She gave a lot of notes and then passed out matches, ordering the students to try and turn theirs into a needle. Neville reread his notes and followed her instructions exactly, but nothing happened. Hermione, sitting next to him, managed to make hers silver and pointy. Neville resolved to go over her notes and try to see what she'd done differently.

Defense Against the Dark Arts, taught by a squirrelly man, had been a class he looked forward to. Uncle Xander used to tell him stories about DADA, about how interesting and useful the class was, but Professor Quirrell clearly had no idea what he was talking about. He seemed afraid of his own shadow, and the classroom smelled so strongly of garlic that Neville's eyes watered.

But the absolutely worst of all was Professor Snape. He taught Potions, which Neville had thought might be sort of fun. He used to enjoy making concoctions with his cousin William and calling them potions or brews. Nothing very good, of course, but Herbology sort of went along with Potions, and Neville thought it'd be a good thing to know. Plus, Gran had been good at Potions when she attended Hogwarts, and he thought it might make her proud.

Professor Snape changed all that. Neville copied down every word he said, listened so intently he thought his ears might fall off, and when Snape demanded of Harry, "Where would you look if I told you find me a bezoar?" Neville thought, _I actually know that one._ It was something Gran had tutored him on, Potions having been one of her favorite classes as a girl.

Snape continued tormenting Harry, with, "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Neville thought, _I know that one, too. They're the same thing. Also called aconite, I think. _

Harry quietly said, "I don't know. I think Hermione does, though; why don't you try her?"

Snape glared even harder and Neville didn't know why he seemed to hate the Gryffindors so much. All throughout the lesson, he hounded them. He paired them up, placing Neville with Seamus Finnegan. Neville copied down the instructions on the board meticulously; it was a simple potion, to cure boils. Something Gran could do in her sleep. Back home, it'd be an easy matter for Neville to follow the directions.

But under Snape's cold, black eyes, Neville faltered. Snape was worse than Great Uncle Hardwick, who used to mock him for not having magic, and not almost kindly the way Great Uncle Algie did. Gran actually lectured Hardwick once, in a soft voice that left him crying. Neville adored her even more after that.

Snape watched them all, with an assessing gaze that left Neville knowing he could never measure up to whatever standards the professor held.

Neville's hand, holding a cup of porcupine quills, slipped and they went splashing into the cauldron. Immediately, the solution hissed loudly, and Neville backed up, shoving Seamus out of the line of fire. Unfortunately, Neville didn't move quickly enough and when the cauldron melted, some of it got all over him.

"Idiot boy!" Snape yelled at him. Neville tried not to whimper, but his skin _burned_ where boils were popping up and he failed. Snape demanded, "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire."

Neville wanted to say, _Duh. Sir._ But he was too embarrassed and in too much pain, and he didn't think he'd ever have the courage.

Snape dismissed him with a curt, "Take him up to the hospital wing," to Seamus. Seamus grabbed his sleeve, pulling him to the door before Snape could change his mind.

Once out in the hall, Seamus said, "Thank you." Neville shrugged. "Do you know how to get to the infirmary?" Seamus asked. "I haven't been there yet."

Neville shook his head, trying to keep in the tears as more and more boils popped up.

"Well, no matter," Seamus said. "We'll find our way—it'll be an adventure, right, Neville?"

He nodded. An adventure. What fun.

The whole way out of the dungeons, Seamus chattered on about how the Muggle world differed from the magical, about his father trying to come to terms, and how Quidditch was far more entertaining than either football or rugby ("Really, Neville, they can _fly_!")

Neville focused on the words to take his mind off the pain and embarrassment—honestly, the very first potion lesson ever? That—that _debacle_ was what he had to write home to Gran about? She had been wonderful in potions! He could barely do magic and now he couldn't do potions? Why was he even _at_ Hogwarts?

"Oy, you there!" Seamus suddenly called. "Wait up, please!"

They'd made it out of the dungeons and now had to choose a right or left corridor. Neville looked past Seamus, down the left corridor. A ghost floated there, slowly turning around.

"Bloody hell," Seamus muttered.

It was the Bloody Baron, Slytherin's ghost. He stared at them before coming closer.

"Do you…" Seamus swallowed. "Do you know the way to the hospital wing?"

"I do." The Baron's voice was deep and cold, and Neville shuddered.

"Could you tell us, please?" Seamus asked, voice shaky.

The Baron came even closer. "What happened to your schoolmate?" He leaned down, peering at Neville.

Neville blinked. Up close, the Baron wasn't so bad. "Potions accident," he murmured through swollen, hurting lips.

The ghost straightened. "Your eyes are familiar. What is your name?"

"Neville Longbottom," he said.

"Hmm…" The ghost studied him. "That name means nothing to me."

Seamus and Neville shared a glance. "Please, sir," Seamus tried again. "We really need to get Neville checked out."

"Take this corridor to its end," the Baron said. "Do not stray and you will find the Healer's domain."

"Thank you, sir," Seamus said, and they eased around him. Neville felt the ghost's eyes on him until they turned the bend.

After that, they didn't speak much. Neville focused on not crying or falling down and Seamus focused on keeping Neville upright and moving. Neville wanted to apologise for being such a bother, but Seamus wasn't acting like it was a hardship, so he kept quiet.

They finally came to the hospital wing and the mediwitch bustled Neville into a bed. "Thank you, dear," she told Seamus. "You can go on back to class."

Seamus smiled at Neville. "Thanks, again," he said. "See you later."

He left before Neville could thank him or apologise, Neville hadn't yet made up his mind.

"It'll just take a simple potion to clear you right up—oh, what did you say your name was, dear?" The mediwitch spoke without turning, digging in a large cabinet.

"Neville Longbottom, Miss." The hospital bed wasn't as comfortable as the one in the dorm, but he was tired. It felt wonderful to lie down; thankfully, the boils were only on his front, his face and neck and arms.

"Well, Neville, I'm Madame Pomfrey." She walked over and handed him a small bottle. "Drain this. The boils will take about half an hour to clear up and then you can head on down for dinner."

"Thank you, Madame Pomfrey," he said.

She smiled at him. "Let's not make a habit of coming here, yes? Hogwarts has more to it than a hospital bed."

He smiled shyly up at her. "I'll do my best, honest, Miss."

She laughed. "They tell me that every year." She patted his hand. "Drink your potion, dear."

Madam Pomfrey went back to the cabinet and Neville swallowed the potion in one gulp, determined to do better. It was only the third day of school, after all, and he needed to make Gran proud.


	16. where the future becomes present

**Title**: where the future becomes present

**Disclaimer**: not my characters; title from Whitman

**Warnings**: AU for whole thing

**Pairings**: maybe a smidge of Tom Riddle/Harry Potter implied

**Rating**: PG  
><strong>Wordcount<strong>: 250

**Point of view**: third

**Prompt**: Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, if Albus Dumbledore would have given him the DADA job

* * *

><p>Professor Riddle is Harry's favorite. Dad and Uncle Sirius had shared all sorts of stories, and even Mum and Uncle Remus had praised his teaching style and the material, and how he made sure even the worst student excelled. Uncle Peter nodded along; he'd done well in Charms and DADA, and had been just behind Dad and the rest in Transfiguration, but he hadn't been at the top of the class like Mum and Uncle Remus.<p>

Uncle Sev, though, was the one who really got Harry excited for Riddle's class. Uncle Sev was actually Riddle's assistant, until he got his Potions Mastery and left Hogwarts, though he still came back for the really big demonstrations.

Riddle was Head of Slytherin, and while Uncle Sirius still complained about that, it really made it neat when Harry was Sorted into his already-favorite teacher's house.

Even the Weasley twins were perfectly behaved in Riddle's class, Harry heard. Riddle was just so _cool_, such an awesome teacher, and Draco followed closely behind Harry in top marks. That Ravenclaw Granger grumbled about it in the library, but books and cleverness didn't get you very far in practicals, which is where Harry beat them all.

By seventh year, Harry sought Riddle's approval over even Uncle Sirius and Dad's, and when he stayed on to be Tom's assistant, no one was surprised.

(Dumbledore's eyes always twinkled at Harry, but they especially twinkled for Tom.

"I'm glad it worked out, Tom," he said once.

Tom simply nodded and agreed.)


	17. the hero of the invisible audience

Title: the hero of the invisible audience

Disclaimer: not my characters; title from James Humphrey

Warnings: future!fic

Pairings: mentions of het and slash

Rating: PG  
>Wordcount: 230<p>

Point of view: third

Prompt: Any, any, the child of (any hero) turns out to be perfectly ordinary- and their parent(s) couldn't be prouder

Note: In my mind, Albus' husband is Scorpius Malfoy, but it's not stated in the drabble, so feel free to pick someone else if you like.

* * *

><p>James Potter spends ten years as the greatest Quidditch player in the world, and then coaches the most successful team for twenty-five more. Lily Potter becomes the youngest dueling champion in history. Their fame equals their father's on their own merits, and James eats it up with glee while Lily handles it gracefully, when she's not jinxing the fans who get too close. James has a girl in every city and Lily invents new curses, which supplements her income.<p>

James marries in his mid-thirties, a healer who doesn't put up with his nonsense. Lily never does, but she travels the world teaching anyone who wants to learn. Harry and Ginny had instilled in all their children the knowledge that everyone should be capable of defending themselves. Nobody should wait for others to save them.

James and Lily Potter go down in the history books. Their brother is only ever noted as Harry Potter's middle child. He never does anything extraordinary. He marries his Hogwarts' sweetheart, has two children, teaches transfiguration at Hogwarts (his husband teaches history), and dies of old age, happy and peaceful. His husband dies three days later.

Once, a reporter asks Harry Potter if he ever wishes his middle child were as exciting as his other two.

Harry just laughs, shaking his head. Al lives the life Harry wishes he could've had, and he couldn't be prouder.


	18. moonbright

Title: moonbright

Disclaimer: not my characters

Warnings: AU pre-series;

Pairings: Remus/Sirius, James/Lily

Rating: PG(13)

Wordcount: 515

Point of view: third

Prompt: Harry Potter, Remus/Sirius, Remus _was_ the Potters' secret-keeper

* * *

><p>He takes the secret and he runs. He leaves anywhere he's ever been, loses himself on the continent, tries to forget who he was and who he left behind.<p>

The wolf explodes out of him and Remus is gone.

.

A dozen or more moons have risen and faded when the not-wolf noses at the entrance of the den.

The wolf growls; the not-wolf whines.

The not-wolf smells familiar; like _home_, and _pack_, and _safe_. The not-wolf crouches down and shoves his head into the den, so the wolf lunges for him, teeth bared.

The not-wolf whines again, going all the way onto his belly, rolling over as much as he can, still in the entrance. Then he backs away, rolling over completely as the wolf slinks out.

The wolf stares down at him. The not-wolf stays still, stays quiet, belly in easy reach and throat bared, and the wolf explores at his leisure, and the scent is so _familiar_. From the before. From the _man_.

The wolf flinches back, and growls, and runs.

The not-wolf chases.

.

The not-wolf stays far enough back that the wolf can ignore him, but never leaves.

Moons rise and fade, and the wolf begins to remember the man. More than the pain, than the fear, than the regret, than the disappointment and despair. He remembers laughter, and play, and loping together in a dark wood, moon high and _pack_ all around him.

The wolf whimpers, and then he howls, and the not-wolf creeps close, whining low and soft, and the wolf – the wolf lets him, lost and confused and frightened. The not-wolf stands beside him, warm and strong, and presses in, rumbling gently.

The wolf is _tired_. He's run as far as he can.

The man says, Sleep.

The wolf collapses into the not-wolf, and cries, Let me.

.

Sirius is there when Remus wakes, both naked and needing baths. "Hullo, Moony," Sirius says, voice rusty and hoarse.

"Padfoot," Remus manages after a moment of effort. "How long – "

"Three years," Sirius tells him, standing and stretching. "It took me three years to find you. I don't know – I left my wand in Gringotts' Munich branch before setting out. I've no idea how long it's been since then."

Remus winces and decides to try standing. Sirius hurries over to help steady him, and Remus waits until he's caught his balance to ask, "What about – "

"Prongs and Lils are safe," Sirius assures him, his arm strong around Remus' back. "So's Harry. Lily was pregnant again when I left." Sirius leans again, resting his forehead on Remus'. "Peter sold us all out, Moony. He thought – I don't even know. Dumbledore burnt himself out killing Vold- _Voldemort_. But he's gone, and we're safe, and we're alive, and you can come home now." He pauses, voice breaking. Remus stares into his eyes, as Sirius murmurs, "Please come home with me."

"I'm tired," Remus says. "Padfoot, I'm so tired."

Sirius nods, wrapping himself around Remus, and he promises, "I'm here now. You can rest, Remus. I'm here, and I've got you."

Remus closes his eyes and _believes_.


	19. terrible, yes, but great

Title: terrible, yes, but great

Disclaimer: not my characters; title and summary from Sorcerer's Stone

Warnings: AU; mentions of child abuse

Pairings: none

Rating: PG  
>Wordcount: 200<p>

Point of view: third

Prompt: Harry Potter, Harry Potter, he gets sorted into Slytherin

* * *

><p>Power is something Harry Potter has never had.<p>

.

Hagrid and Ron both talk about Slytherin and Gryffindor, how bad wizards are always one and good wizards the other.

Harry Potter's parents were in Gryffindor.

... Harry Potter's parents are dead.

.

Ollivander said _terrible_, yes, but he also said _great_.

.

_Your choice, Harry Potter_, the Hat murmurs, and an entire hall waits with bated breath.

.

Years of slavery, of hiding his potential, of biting his tongue and clenching his fists, of closing his eyes and bowing his head.

_Years_.

Harry Potter doesn't remember ever being a child. He remembers pain and fear, uncomforted tears, and so much anger he choked on it, time and again and again and again.

The Boy Who Lived, the hero of all of those books – maybe he was real, once, years ago. Before the Dursleys. Before his only family in the world tried beating out of him magic he didn't know he had.

Harry Potter's parents were in Gryffindor. Maybe if they had raised him, so would he be.

.

_You can become magnificent,_ the Hat promises, before shouting Harry Potter's choice to the world.

.

Power is something Harry Potter will never be without again.


	20. the power the dark lord knows not

Title: the power the dark lord knows not (is not love)

Disclaimer: not my characters

Warnings: AU

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 335

Point of view: third

Prompt: Harry Potter, Harry, Dumbledore's plan failed; when Harry arrived at Hogwarts he was not the polite and friendly little boy that everyone expected him to be.

* * *

><p>Harry Potter is a good boy, thank you very much. He's always reading, always smiling, always ready to help.<p>

(is he? are you sure? those books aren't harmless, and neither are his eyes (killing-green, oh my), and his smile - ooh, such a shivery thing, that smile of his)

He's Sorted into Ravenclaw, which wasn't part of the plan, but he's at the top of his class, and all of his teachers except Snape adore him. And even Snape can't fault his dedication to his studies, no matter how he mutters about arrogance and fathers.

First, second, third, fourth, fifth - Harry Potter studies, focuses on learning, and amasses an army of fellow students loyal to him. Dumbledore watches history repeat itself but doesn't _see_ it. Harry Potter doesn't try to rescue the Stone, doesn't find the Chamber of Secrets, doesn't follow a Gryffindor's rat into a tree, doesn't let himself be forced into a tournament (there are always loopholes, if one knows where to look), and doesn't let himself be tricked.

In sixth year, there is no Dark Lord rising from his own ashes.

In sixth year, the headmaster calls Harry into his office and says, "It's time you learned about the enemy, my boy," and Harry Potter, smiling (killing-green eyes), asks, "Which enemy is that, sir?"

The whole world is Harry Potter's enemy, even those who would die for him.

Because, once upon a time, there was a little boy sobbing for his mother, and all he got was slaps, and kicks, and no food, and a monster of cousin that everyone thought was so grand.

Harry Potter's secret isn't _love_, you foolish old man with your twinkling eyes. He doesn't even know the meaning of the word.

"Voldemort, Harry," the headmaster says, peering at Harry over his spectacles, something tickling at the back of his mind.

"Oh," Harry says, still smiling. "I thought you meant yourself."

Harry Potter is a good boy, and he'll be a great man. He's got it all planned out.


	21. Ask me to help you find the wind

Title: Ask me to help you find the wind

Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Anderson

Warnings: child abuse, AU, victim blaming by the victim

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 410

Point of view: third

Prompt: Harry Potter, Dudley + Harry, they grew up as best friends, with Dudley trying to help Harry everytime his parents were abusive of him.

* * *

><p>When the letter comes, Harry hands it off to Dudley; his parents don't notice, so later that afternoon, they hide in Dudley's room to read it together.<p>

"Could it possibly be real?" Harry asks hesitantly.

"I think it might be," Dudley says. "All the... odd things, you know."

"I suppose," Harry replies dubiously. But there _are_ a lot of odd things.

They have no owl to send back a letter, so they put it aside for now.

.

Three days later, a witch knocks on the door. Aunt Petunia nearly faints, and Uncle Vernon scowls fiercely, but Dudley politely invites her in.

After her explanation, Harry says, "It does sound wonderful, ma'am, but I can't leave without Dudley."

Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, blinks at him. "Beg pardon?"

"He's my brother, you see," Harry says, licking nervously at his lips while glancing towards the door. His relatives had left him alone with the professor, dragging Dudley with them. "I can't leave him alone here. Without me around, they might turn on him."

"Mr. Potter," she says severely. "Do you mean to tell me that your relatives are… are _harming_ you?"

He hesitates, glancing again at the door. He doesn't want to say – it's always his fault, anyway – but without him, Dudley might be in danger. "Yes," he whispers.

Her eyes flash.

.

Hedwig brings letters between them daily, as Harry writes down everything about Hogwarts while Dudley shares all the details about their new family. He doesn't have enough magic for Hogwarts, but there _is_ a tiny spark there, enough to see the creatures. As best the healer could determine, the one Professor McGonagall dragged them both to that first day, Dudley's potential had been there since birth (of course) but only Harry's magic in close proximity had let it grow enough to actually matter.

Harry is Sorted into Hufflepuff, makes friends with Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot, and doesn't like Professor Snape all that much, but since the healer fixed Harry's eyesight and Harry's not in Gryffindor, Professor Snape never goes into tirades about the father Harry can't remember and never knew.

Sometimes, the headmaster watches Harry; Harry pays it no nevermind.

Over the holiday, Harry goes home to his brother and foster family: the Diggorys. They have another son, a fourth year Hufflepuff who helped Harry navigate Hogwarts in the beginning.

"It's been amazing, Harry," Dudley says, pouncing on him at the station.

"Yes, it has," Harry agrees.


	22. slow to wake

Title: slow to wake

Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Ursula K. Le Guin

Warnings: AU for Half-Blood Prince

Rating: PG

Pairings: none

Wordcount: 380

Point of view: third

Prompt: Harry Potter, Draco (+/any), deny thy father and refuse thy name (Romeo and Juliet)

Note: The title is from this quote - _The hunger of a dragon is slow to wake, but hard to sate_.

* * *

><p>Father has told him all his life that Malfoys bow to no one.<p>

Why, then, does Father grovel to this mad lord, this dark lord, this lord once beaten by an infant?

Father has told him all his life that Malfoys will rule when the old days return.

Why, then, does Father listen to this mad lord who kills his own as easily as he kills the enemy?

Father has told him all his life that the world is his for the taking.

Why, then, has Father given him to one who flies from death? (Maybe the name was meant to be strong - to him, though, it stinks of fear, of one frightened and trying vainly to hide it.)

Father has told him so many things, and tomorrow, Draco will be marked like his father.

No.

Malfoys are not minions. Malfoys do not follow. This path of Father's will lead to the ruin of the Malfoys - and, possibly, to their entire society.

What, then, can one boy do? He's yet to even finish schooling. He has nothing outside of the Malfoys. Outside of the Malfoys, he _is_ nothing.

No.

He is Draco. He must, then, be as strong as a dragon, as resilient. No more hiding behind the mask of the perfect son, the sniveling prince of Slytherin. (If only he had known, then, what mad lord his father worshipped. Would he still have mirrored his father in everything?)

He tells no one, hints to nobody at the Manor of his plans. He walks to the edge of the wards and summons the Knight Bus. At Gringotts, he withdraws enough galleons to cover a year's tuition at Hogwarts; at Wiseacre's, he buys a mokeskin pouch and transfers the galleons to it. He casts a glamour on himself before buying a handful of used wands from a hag, and then he leaves his Ollivander's wand on the front stoop of a closed shop.

The world is large. Surely it is large enough to find a place for himself, away from the Malfoys' mad lord? He pauses just outside the Leaky Cauldron, at the enormity of this choice—once made, there could be no going back.

After a moment, he straightens his spine, lifts his chin. Dragons bow to no one.


	23. where I reign king

Title: where I reign king

Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Milton

Warnings: AU; implied abuse

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 310

Point of view: third

Prompt: Harry Potter, Harry, the Dursleys were a lot more abusive than it's implied in the books, and as a result it's a very distrustful Harry that finally arrives at Hogwarts.

* * *

><p>He follows the family of redheads to the entrance and goes through. He leaves the trolley with his trunk by the rest of the luggage waiting to be stowed and slips onto the train, looking for an out-of-the-way place to settle.<p>

And he watches everyone. This is his chance to get away from the Dursleys. He'll need to study the rules of this society, need to see how it works, but he'll do whatever it takes. Hagrid was nice but he can't trust the man – can't trust anyone but himself. He learned that well.

Hagrid leads them to little boats, says, "No more'n four!" and then greets him with a broad smile. He nods back and chooses a boat with one of the redheads, a girl, and the boy who couldn't keep track of his toad. The redhead and the girl talk about magic while the other boy tries not to fall out of the boat.

It's a big place, this Hogwarts. Hopefully easy to get lost in. There was nowhere to hide at Privet Drive.

.

The Hat settles onto him with a hum. _This is very interesting,_ the Hat says. _Not quite what they expected, I think. What to do with you?_

_I don't want to be noticed,_ he says.

_You'll be noticed no matter what, my dear boy_, the Hat says. _But I can place you where you will be underestimated – and where you might get the care you sorely need_.

The Hat shouts, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

.

Hufflepuff is the House of the hard workers, of loyalty.

He smiles up at the canopy above his bed. His wand is under the pillow. A stack of etiquette books and history texts is spread out along the side closest to his roommates.

If he plays this right, he'll have them all following him. And whatever plans are in place for him – he'll be ready.


	24. knowledge for knowledge's sake

Title: knowledge for knowledge's sake

Fandom: Harry Potter

Disclaimer: not my characters

Warnings: AU at the sorting; references to violence/character death; darkish!Hermione

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 1700

Point of view: third

Prompt: Harry Potter, Hermione, _Knowledge was her true god._

* * *

><p>She wants to <em>know <em>- what could possibly be wrong about that?

.

Hermione had long outgrown the children's section of every library within driving distance of her parents' home, though when she asked, they would drive further still. The librarians thought she was adorable; her classmates, not so much. She argued with the teachers when she knew they were wrong, and there was so much she knew.

Her mother asked her to save her battles for important things. Hermione listened and Hermione learned.

.

With her Hogwarts letter (and Professor McGonagall proving it wasn't a joke), a whole new world opened, a world with so much Hermione didn't yet know. She had her parents buy one book from each section of Flourish and Blotts, and she read, and she remembered. She practiced without her wand until she found the book that said only the most powerful could do wandless magic; how could an eleven year old muggleborn be one of the most powerful?

(Eventually, she will remember. By then, she will _know_.)

.

Ravenclaw for the know-it-alls; Gryffindor for the courageous; Hufflepuff for the loyal; Slytherin for the power-hungry.

Such simple division.

.

Hermione was reading when the boy popped in to ask if she'd seen a toad. She hadn't seen a toad, so she sent him on his way and turned the page.

_._

_Oh, my, what an interesting mind!_ the Hat said. _You could easily go into all four, though two are plainly obvious._

Ravenclaw, she thought. There was so much to learn, so much she wanted to know. An entire culture that she'd barely had a year to study. So much history, so much knowledge waiting –

_Where to put you?_ the Hat asked. It laughed and then added, _Perhaps you're what we need, Ms. Granger. Better be "SLYTHERIN!"_

_._

They tried bullying her; she learned spells to retaliate. They tried frightening her; she recited their history with a smile. She did not merely memorize facts and regurgitate them – she synthesized and analyzed and combined it all together in a way the natives hadn't needed to and few muggleborns had wanted to.

Hermione Granger had no time for friends. There was so much to learn.

.

At the end of her first year at Hogwarts, Hermione broke every single record. The Slytherins had no idea what to do with her and they'd ceased bothering her. The other Houses left her alone, too, because she was only a little bookworm, even if she was a snake.

There was so much to learn. Knowledge for knowledge's sake, Hermione thought, as she delved ever further into magic.

Knowledge for knowledge's sake.

.

Being a muggleborn gave her quite a bit of leeway when it came to the Headmaster, to Madame Pince. And with Harry Potter running around in constant trouble – who noticed the girl ever in the library, head buried in a book?

She learned so much. She questioned everything. She formulated her own ideas, performed theoretical tests, and then moved on to practical examinations in the Room of Requirement (which was mentioned in an earlier edition of _Hogwarts, a History_ than was currently available).

Hermione maintained her perfect grades and kept all of her experimenting to herself; until she had it completely beyond reproof, no one would know of it.

.

The Heir of Slytherin, Sirius Black, the Triwizard Tournament – she noticed, of course, because how could she not. But it didn't interrupt her research or her quest to _know_.

.

Hermione Granger saw many things wrong with the world.

She could help fix it, if she cared. However, she did not. And until the world bothered her work, she'd leave it well enough alone.

.

But of course, Hermione Granger was a muggleborn. And Professor Umbridge took offense to that.

Hermione's dormmates had long since learned to leave her alone, mudblood or not. Her Housemates even found some pride in how she smashed record after record as she moved through the years, and thoroughly enjoyed the hundreds of points she earned. The Ravenclaws hated her and also wished to work with her in equal measure.

She ignored it all, head ever in a book.

Professor Umbridge tried to assign a detention when Hermione challenged her in class; Hermione chose not to attend.

.

The pureblood children come to Hogwarts with a certain base of knowledge. There is Family Magic, passed from parents to children via genetics; there are spells children learn as they grow, whether formally taught or not; there is ambient magic that soaks into children because of the magic all around them that perhaps halfbloods and definitely muggleborns do not.

There is much that is not put into books simply because it is understood knowledge: everyone knows it. Who would bother writing it down?

A particularly clever person, however, can put it together.

A particularly _determined_ person can springboard off it and learn even more.

.

"A blood quill?" Hermione murmured, gazing down at it before looking over at Professor Umbridge. "How very interesting."

Hermione's Head of House had ordered her to the detention, to cease drawing the Head Inquisitor's attention. Her dormmates had cautioned her, too, which actually made her smile.

Blood quills are dangerous things. In fact, there'd been an experiment Hermione's been wanting to try for a few months now.

"Professor Umbridge," she called, because fair's fair. "Are you sure this is the quill you want me to use?"

"Of course," Professor Umbridge tittered.

"Very well," Hermione said. "I'll start writing, shall I?" She smiled down at the quill and parchment before writing, _I shall respect my betters_ over and over and over again.

Professor Umbridge gasped at the first mark but Hermione wrote and wrote and wrote.

.

There were no more detentions for anyone. The blood-linking spell worked perfectly and Professor Umbridge wasn't clever enough to figure out how. She was smart enough, however, to not risk it again.

The experiment was a success.

.

At the end of the year, Tracey Davis told Hermione, "Maybe you shouldn't come back next year."

Hermione blinked at her until the Runes cleared from her vision. "Why ever not?"

"You're muggleborn, Granger," Davis said, exasperatedly. "It's not safe, especially not with, well –" She nodded at The _Daily Prophet_ Bulstrode was reading, with its front page headline about the return of You Know Who.

Hermione shrugged. "Thank you for the warning," she said.

Davis sighed and shrugged and turned away.

.

Sixth year was quiet until the end, when the headmaster died.

The world interrupted Hermione's studies.

She sighed and went to the owlry, sending home a single letter.

_Mum and Dad, _

_It would be best if you went on an extended holiday, preferably to the Americas or Australia. I love you both. Don't worry about me. _

_Your daughter, _

_Hermione_

_._

Blood-linking spells were the least dangerous of Hermione's discoveries. She'd also invented a few things most of the stagnant society wouldn't even imagine.

In another world, where the Hat put her in Gryffindor because she asked, Hermione dismissed herself by telling Harry Potter she had only "books and cleverness." She would eventually be known as the brightest witch of her generation, but her studies would be affected by what Harry needed for his various adventures.

In this world, Hermione's studies are limited only by what she wishes to know. As she wishes to know everything, this is, in fact, no limitation at all.

Once, Tom Riddle (a halfblood with a muggle father) wanted to know things so that he could take over the society. He learned dark arts and recreated himself into a wizard the entire society (including his followers) feared.

.

Hermione Granger fears nothing.

.

Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Harry Potter went on a horcrux hunt throughout the countryside.

Hermione Granger returned to school, where her Head of House became Headmaster. "Miss Granger," he said, "you should not have come back."

"I need to finish my schooling, Headmaster Snape," Hermione replied.

Her housemates in her year still left her alone, as did the ones in sixth and fifth year. The rest, however, must be taught.

And the new Defense professors…

"Mudblood!" the woman shouted at her, aiming with a wand.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Mudblood!" the woman repeated before saying, "Crucio!"

.

In her years at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger learned many things. She performed more in-depth research and various experiments over the summer holidays; her base of knowledge was laid in the year before she could attend, as her birthday just missed the cut-off.

In another world, Hermione wasn't at Hogwarts during her seventh year. Neville Longbottom led the students in an insurrection, discovering his courage and strength. While the headmaster did what he could to protect the students, he also had to maintain his cover with the Dark Lord and the magical community went to hell in a handbasket (to use one of Hermione's cousin's favorite sayings).

In this world, without Neville to lead them, the students suffered with no hope.

Well. Perhaps there was some hope after all.

.

In a very old book, Hermione found a simple spell that deflects everything. There is no incantation. The mage is to merely raise a hand and picture a reflective surface – any reflective surface will do. At the time of the writing, there was water with mirrors still being years away.

Professor Carrow sent an Unforgivable at Hermione, and Hermione raised her left hand, pictured a mirror, and returned the curse.

Of course, this meant the curse was now under Hermione's control. She knew that the longer a person is under the curse, the greater the damage to both mind and magical core. It would be an interesting study.

Everyone looked at her in fear and horror, as the other Carrow shouted, "Avada Kedavra!"

Hermione held up her right hand.

.

There were questions, of course. Hermione did not answer them.

.

Only the most powerful can use wandless magic.

There is so much to learn.

.

In another world, Hermione joined the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and married Ron Weasley. She had two children, many nieces and nephews, and a happy life. She was known as a hero and the brightest witch of her generation.

Harry Potter still battled Voldemort to the death. Neville Longbottom still killed the Dark Lord's favored companion, Nagini.

.

Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. Light and dark.

There is so much to know.

"Knowledge for knowledge's sake," Hermione said, smiling. "How could it be bad?"


	25. to my arms you are forever lost

Title: to my arms you are forever lost

Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Margaret Sayers Peden

Warnings: child death, grief, covering it all up

Pairings: Petunia/Vernon

Rating: PG  
>Wordcount: 470<p>

Point of view: third

Prompt: Harry Potter, any, the world where the Dursleys accidentally killed Harry Potter before he ever had the chance to go to Hogwarts

* * *

><p>Petunia's only consolation is that it was an accident. The boy i - <em>was<em> just so quiet, tucked away neatly in the cupboard. With her darling Diddums and Vernon so loud, it was surely an easy thing to miss.

Weeks passed before she remembered that he'd surely need water, and to eat, too, and she is just thankful, now, that Vernon was already at work and Dudley was napping upstairs, because when she opened the cupboard -

She wept for Lily's son, she truly did, and then she went for towels to wrap him in, and she closed the cupboard door, went upstairs, and cradled her own son close, waiting for Vernon to come home.

Petunia told him, "We have to move." She put Dudley down in his playpen, led Vernon to the cupboard, and opened the door.

"Oh, Christ," Vernon said.

.

(In the tumultuous weeks after Voldemort's defeat, Albus Dumbledore's attention was required by many people for many reasons. When he finally checked on Harry Potter, it was far too late.

Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley Dursley become Victor, Penelope, and David Smith. Victor is an accountant, Penelope a volunteer at the local librarian, and David a somewhat quiet child. The neighbors don't ever come to know the family very well, but there is something solemn about the Smith's. They don't talk about anything before.

Albus Dumbledore informs no one that the Potter boy died. He merely claims that the boy is being trained somewhere and turns his attention to Neville Longbottom.)

.

(Magic is an amazing thing, and so is the will to live. But it was dark in the cupboard, and Harry still suffered from the aftereffects of the attack, and he knew they were gone, all the warm people who loved him – in truth, he survived much longer than many others would have, his magic keeping alive even as dehydration sapped away at him.

Magic is an amazing thing, but he died long before his aunt remembered him.)

.

(When Harry Potter does not owl his acceptance, Minerva checks the list and does not see his name. His name appeared when he was born and would disappear for one reason alone.

"Oh, Merlin," she breathes, covering her mouth with a hand. "Oh, please no."

She bypasses Dumbledore entirely to go to the Dursley house.)

.

(Sirius Black still escapes Azkaban. Voldemort still attains a new body with the help of a few loyal servants. Hogwarts still falls.

Neville Longbottom faces Voldemort at the cost of both their lives, and Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood, too.

What no one ever learns is where Harry Potter is buried.

Or, well. Eventually, a pair of muggle schoolchildren playing in the local woods finds it, and it causes quite a stir, but no one in the magical community ever hears of it.)


	26. Friday's Child (works hard for a living)

Title: Friday's Child (works hard for a living)

Disclaimer: most of them are my characters, actually, but the ones you recognize aren't

Warnings: references to violence and WW2; AU way pre-canon

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 1070

Point of view: third

Prompt: Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, He never went to Hogwarts, he trained himself in magic

Note: pretend Tom Riddle is two years younger or else ignore that The Blitz happens at the wrong time

* * *

><p>After the <em>wizard<em> leaves, Tom runs. He has no idea where he's going, but it's better than staying where he is, where he's hated and feared, where even his _own kind _will look at him in apprehension and suspicion.

The world is hard for children, and harder still for orphans - but Tom is clever. Tom has his talents, what he now knows is magic. It's like a storybook, only he's not the long-lost and long-sought-for prince. He's in a storybook but he's still a nobody.

He's an eleven-year-old orphan living on the streets of London and he'll make do whether the world wants him or not.

.

There's no point in keeping a name that means nothing, a name given to him by a woman who didn't love him enough to stay alive, a name for the father who didn't want either of them.

When the bombing starts, he still hasn't chosen a name. He hasn't even been practicing much with his talent, except when he sees if it'll give him an edge in pickpocketing – which it doesn't. It takes too long, and it's too noticeable. Maybe it's that he's too hungry to feel much; he noticed, in the orphanage, that it always came easier when he was angry, the few times he was scared.

He's plenty scared when the bombing comes. Terrified out of his mind is more right, but he huddles up against a wall and pretends nothing can touch him, and for all the noise, nothing does.

Nothing touches him until the bombs stop falling and he's utterly exhausted the entire time, scrounging for scraps, looking far more pitiful than he ever has, and he survives and he survives, and he settles on the name _Arthur_ very early one morning, watching the sunlight spread through the fog and the smoke, because that is the destiny he will choose –

Arthur, Once and Future King. Yes. Let the judgmental old man choke on that.

.

Arthur is twelve when he leaves London. He's had enough of people and he can forage in the countryside better than in the city. If worst comes to worst, he can ask the serpents for help; they like him better than any human he's ever known. He chooses his surname for them: Arthur Adder, a dark-haired, dark-eyed boy who tans with the sun and talks to serpents and summons things to him with a thought, transforms things into different shapes, leaps off walls and floats to the ground.

He's an odd boy, that Arthur Adder, but charming and polite.

The world is hard for children, and harder still for orphans. But Arthur Adder is determined to survive.

.

In the winter, Arthur holes up in different hamlets, making himself useful to people so they'll offer him shelter and share their food. When he's younger, it's easier – he is a small boy, slight. He's not sure if he'll ever be big like some of the men he sees on his travels, but he tries to eat well in the spring and summer while he travels.

He practices his talent constantly, and the older he gets, the easier it comes to him, the less he needs strong emotion. The more time he spends on his own, with the serpents, the less angry he feels about… so many things.

.

The first time he transports himself from one side of a clearing to the other, he passes out and wakes to a frightened woman calling for help. He is seventeen and she's a little older, and she's panicking, and then there are more people, all wearing odd clothing –

He's still so tired, so he slips back under.

.

The young woman is named Elizabeth but she goes by Lizzie. She's also a witch. She's engaged to a soldier she hasn't seen in nearly a year and her father is a tired farmer, but her mother is a witch, too. The village is a fair mix of magical folk and non-magical _(muggle,_ the old man had called them, but Lizzie says they don't like that, some of the time, so she just calls them non-magical).

Lizzie's father Fred doesn't want to take him in but Lizzie and her mother Sally convince him without much hassle. Arthur spends the better part of a year with them, learning actual spells. Lizzie explains that she and her mother before her didn't go to Hogwarts, either; there's a small school for the local communities that all the magical children get sent to, and they let him have their old schoolbooks, so long as he leaves them when he goes, for the children Lizzie and her soldier (Ned, apparently, who is non-magical) will have once he comes home and they get married.

Arthur kisses Lizzie but once. She loves Ned fiercely, so she pulls away and tells him to not do that again if he wants to stay.

The village grows boring eventually, and Arthur memorizes all the books, so he thanks Lizzie and her parents, and he moves on.

.

Transporting himself through space is called _apparition._ He practices with it because it is highly useful, and like all the rest of his various talents, it gets easier. By the time Arthur is twenty, everything is so very easy.

He likes solitude, but he has no idea what's going on in the rest of the world. According to the various villages he passes through (still avoiding large cities), the war is over. England and her allies won. Beyond that, though, he knows almost nothing.

.

When Arthur Adder is twenty years and six months old, he returns to London. It is time to explore the magical world. He is a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and dark eyes, and he does not need a wand. He buys one for appearance's sake from a hag selling them out of a basket.

In Ollivander's shop, a yew wand with a phoenix feather core goes unsold.

In Hogwarts, the Transfiguration professor has forgotten that odd boy who never arrived for his Sorting.

In Flourish and Blotts, Arthur Adder purchases a dozen history texts with galleons pickpocketed from wizards too foolish to place protection charms on their money.

In the centaur colony within the Forbidden Forest, in the bounds of Hogwarts' wards, the centaurs murmur to each other that the future has shifted – and no seer across the land can yet see what might come to pass instead.


End file.
